<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Let Me by Chioces</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408159">Let Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chioces/pseuds/Chioces'>Chioces</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The King (2019)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, halstaff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 13:07:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>589</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408159</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chioces/pseuds/Chioces</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A quiet farewell.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sir John Falstaff/Henry V of England, Sir John Falstaff/Prince Hal (Shakespeare)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Give me your dreams. I wish to carry them onto the field with me tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And yours? Will you give me yours?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “We shall be the keepers of each others dreams, and so survive death itself, in order to carry them pulsing, out into the dawn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Such an odd amalgamation: so frail and thin a body given so unbearable a weight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Wait. You have to wait. No matter what you see out there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I cannot stand the thought of you dying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “A sentimental injustice, no? All men carry their heads, so they may be severed from their bodies, and they cannot wallow in the discontent, or in the wish for preservation.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And you? Do you wallow in discontent? Do you wish for preservation?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Only for yours, my King.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “That wish too, may prove itself wistful.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Yes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Shall we arrange a place for us to meet in heaven then?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Oh, by all means, I’ll be waiting for you on the morrow, at the corner of the great white chapel, just past the second soggy cloud.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You’re soggy, you great brute.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I am.” A sigh, then, “I am.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> The candle light is yellow in the darkness of the tent. The bedding old, the pillows stained by time.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And here we are now, run out of time.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You always knew, you always knew you’d end up marching out to your death, dragging me behind you. With no choice but to protect your silly head. Your silly dreams, my King.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I cannot stand the thought of you dying, even a moment ahead of me. How will I carry all this… how will I carry all this <em>life</em> without you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “A king is nothing more than a servant. Your life belongs to your land. And mine belongs to you so you may survive to give yours to your land, and so it goes. I will serve, and you will serve, and if God is on our side—if we are on God’s side, we will perhaps sever on together. Perhaps we’ll live on to watch your country struggle under your heavy hand.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> Pearls of laughter thread the air. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Is there no choice but war?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “You are the king, all war is your choice.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I am Aminon, bringer of death. I shall lead the men right into hell. And I ask of them to do it willingly.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “They enter the gates of hell to block them, so that their wives and children would not need to follow.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Then let my body be the largest. Let it be large enough and wide enough so no man will ever need pass through them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Ah, don’t do that, can’t block them gates forever, we all wish for a reprieve, in the end.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “This is not what I wanted.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “This is not what you wanted, but it is what you chose.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “It’s not what I dreamed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Kings do not get to dream. Kings are the hands of the dreams of the people.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Then for tonight, let me no longer be king.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “So that you can tell me your dreams?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “So that you can tell me yours, and I can carry them into battle with me tomorrow, and defend them with my breast along with the entire kingdom’s.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I cannot stand the thought.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “Of me dying?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “And that too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “I’m sorry. I want—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> “No more wanting. Sleep. Tomorrow we meet God, you must be fresh faced.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> A laugh, and shuffling, then a breath. The yellow flairs and dies. The army sleeps. Nobody cries. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> No use weeping over a broken washtub.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>